Lakeshore
by smngry
Summary: Almost thirty years have passed since Detective Mike Norris experienced the unimaginable horror that was Chucky. Now, following years of nightmares, a shattered career, and a tarnished reputation, Mike decides to confront his fears head on. Opening up to a psychiatrist and telling his story. Starting with the very first victim of Charles Lee Ray, the infamous Lakeshore Strangler
1. Prologue

**Lakeshore**

* * *

'I am listening to you Damballa, ma cher.

Let me here your voice.

I will be still and listen,

To hear the voice of Damballa.

I am confused and uncertain.

I need your guidance and wisdom.

Fill me with your peace and serenity.

Whisper in my ear, great Damballa.

Thank you oh mighty Damballa,

For life after death.'

* * *

 **Prologue**

 **September 30th 1986**

The gentle breeze swept across the expanse of greenery as the sun began to slowly set across the park. Trees swayed slightly. Leaves rippled back and forth. The last embers of light gradually disappeared across the horizon as the glint of remaining sunlight now nestled between the towering structures of the city that sat proudly upon the horizon. All around, birds sat in the branches, their calming song still audible as the last of the couples, families and parties packed away their things and joyfully made their way back through the lush green fields and across the quaint wooden bridge supported either side of the soothing stream. A good day now drawing to a close as the park slowly found itself devoid of life. One by one, as darkness crept over the park, the lanterns lining the footpaths suddenly blinked in to life. Not in complete unison but more staggered, as the stale artificial light soaked the nearby vicinity and offered a haunting feeling. Haunting and uncomfortable enough to make anybody attempting to pass through think twice.

The ambient hum of the subway station hung fresh in the evening air as a small crowd rose from their seats, a distant thunder echoing down the tunnel and reverberating around the platform as the lights of the oncoming train began to grow in the darkness up ahead. As the lights neared, the ambience of the station found itself shattered, the screeching of brakes as the callipers of the wheels forced the metal discs to bed into the track and grip for dear life, a shower of sparks spraying every which way as the subway train exited the tunnel and slowed tremendously. Within a matter of seconds the huge carriages had come to a complete standstill, the automated doors hissing as they folded open as if by magic, the two doors parting in the middle and spreading either side of the newly formed cavity in the belly of the long, metal beast. The crowd of people exiting the carriage began to force their way between the herd of commuters heading the opposite way, the occasional murmur of gratitude as somebody stepped aside. The even rarer grunt of an apology as another set of commuters bumped shoulders. In amongst the heaving throng of people, ants in the stone maze that was the city, the young lady smiled naturally as she nonchalantly slipped between the crowd, far from invisible in her bright blue polo shirt, the name badge pinned to her chest and inviting the odd sneer from the briefcase laden snobs of Chicago. 'Erica – Here To Help' it claimed, the very sight of the badge seeming to act as a homing beacon for all and sundry as she worked the aisles of Cost-Ex Mini-Mart. Lifting her hand and scraping her long golden mane into a scrunchy Erica followed the flock towards the staircase leading to the surface and began to climb toward the street above. The night awaiting her had become brisk and dark, the sun setting quickly as she left work and headed home this evening. Reaching the surface, she marvelled as the crowd quickly dispersed, the army of people splitting and heading in every direction as Erica simply reached the top step and carried on along the sidewalk. Although warm, the breeze had picked up significantly, a gust of wind making her wince as she reached into the handbag slung across her narrow shoulders and dug out her prized possession. Unfurling the cable of the headphones, Erica clipped the Walkman to the waist of her jeans and placed the headphones over her head, the cushioned earpieces resting comfortably either side of her head as she pressed the play button and prayed for enough battery life to last the walk home. Sure enough the cassette hidden inside kicked into life and her ears allowed the tranquil nostalgia of seventies rock to reverberate through. Slowly walking down the street she took time to take in the various storefront displays and soak in whatever she could to make the trip a little more interesting. The latest toys from Play Pals graced the window of Dick's Toy Store. Dolls, fire engines and board games sat organised and neatly labelled, the 30% off sale no doubt making many a parent think twice before dragging their screaming child onwards without a second thought. The television sets sat in the window of Price's Entertainment. Dozens of them, playing the same images all over the screens that made up the display, Erica taking note of the score between the Cubs and the Indians, unsure whether the game was live or simply stock footage played endlessly overnight. The greengrocers was next, piled high with fresh fruit and vegetables. Then the baby store advertising everything from cribs and prams to baby clothes and toys. The stores seemed endless in fact as Erica switched her glance and checked out the other side of the almost empty street, the stores coming to an abrupt end as they met the recently renovated Cloudberry Heights apartment block. Without breaking stride Erica noticed the familiar figure of old man Winterburn standing on the front step and gesturing her towards him with an open hand, the doors behind him open and allowing the light to spill from within the lobby, the once magnolia walls now covered in gang tags and graffiti as far as the eye could see as Erica crossed the street and came to a stop at the bottom of the concrete steps, removing the headphones with one hand and stopping the Walkman with the other a warm smile appearing on her lips.

'You got my chocolate milk?' The old man asked in his thick Jamaican accent, smiling as his face wrinkled under the strain, his thick white hair shifting slightly as he did so. Without saying a word Erica removed the headphones from her ears and reached into her thick, leather bag once again, withdrawing a carton of Cost-Ex Chocolate Milk and throwing it up towards the old man who caught it in one fluid motion and allowed it to rest in his hands, eyes investigating as he allowed a small laugh to escape his lips. 'Nobody does this stuff like your place.' He cooed, lifting the carton in one hand and gripping the steel rail of the steps with his other, Erica replying with a small chuckle of her own.

'I bet you say that to all the girls Mr Winterburn.' She grinned at the old timer, happy to help her former neighbour, the recent move from his old apartment after thirty plus years no doubt taking its toll on him.

'Only the ones that fetch me food.' He replied with a raucous fit of laughter, his voice echoing down the street. 'How you doing Erica?'

'Not so bad.' Erica replied with a small bob of her head, a touch of sadness to her words. 'Feels weird you not being next door anymore.'

'You mean quiet?' He smiled.

'That too.' She said reverting to a grin. 'You settled in a little more?'

'More or less. It's not too bad here you know.' Winterburn replied. 'The occasional trouble. Gangs and all. But where don't you get that these days?'

'You didn't get it at our place.' Erica said, turning and looking across the road, the high-rise apartments resting on the horizon across Murrayfield park.

'I couldn't stay there Erica.' He answered honestly, a sombre tone beginning to appear in his words as he let his eyes drop to the carton of chocolate milk in his hands. 'Not after Muriel passed on. There were too many memories.'

'I understand.' Erica said with a nod. 'We both do. Me and Dale, if ever you want to come over-'

'Ah young Dale.' Winterburn interrupted. 'And how is that young scoundrel you seem to think is good enough for you?'

'Funnily enough he's late.' Erica lifted her wrist and observed the time on her watch. 'He's supposed to be meeting me here and walking me the rest of the way.'

'Through the park?' Mr Winterburn asked with an air of concern, his attention suddenly turning to the park across the street.

'Yup.'

'You best wait.' He said with a slow shake of the head, eyes flitting from the stone arched entrance of the park and back to Erica, the fragile young woman before him coming to mean a lot to him these last few years. The daughter he'd never had. 'Why don't you come up and wait. I'm sure Dale won't be long.'

'It's okay.' She replied with a sigh of amusement, lifting the headphones from around her neck. 'I figure I can make it home in fifteen minutes if I hurry up. I'll probably run into Dale anyway. Then he'll be the one to be worried.'

'I wouldn't like to be in his shoes when you do.' Mr Winterburn laughed, lifting a frail arm and pointing to the headphones Erica was positioning over hears. 'Listening to anything good?'

'Just an old mix tape of my mom's.' She replied. 'Kinda cool really. Bit of Deep Purple, Journey, I dunno what else to be honest. It was just labelled 'rock'.'

'Well you do me a favour and phone me up when you get home.' The old man half asked, half ordered. 'I don't like that park. Especially not at night.'

'Relax,' Erica said, headphones now sat astride her ears. 'It can't be that bad.'

'Good night Erica.' Mr Winterburn lifted his arm and extended the chocolate milk as he gave her one final wave. A farewell he may have cherished an awful lot more had he only known.

'Good night Mr Winterburn.' She said, turning and offering a wave of her own, crossing the street and lowering her hand to the Walkman positioned beside her hip, the gears turning once again as the cassette inside began to play. Approaching the entrance to the park, Erica felt a cold feeling creep over her shoulders. The stone archway welcoming her inside was now soaked in the yellow light of the lantern by its side, the bulb inside flickering intermittently and producing a haunting flash. Although a feeling of unease hung delicately in the air she decided to proceed, the boogeyman that had scared children over the past few centuries not enough to stop Erica's journey. There was always the option to head around the park, but that meant a bus ride and an extra half hour commute. The last thing she wished upon herself after the day she'd had. Stepping beneath the arch she found the darkness of the vacant green fields and the surrounding gardens of flowers and bushes begin to pull at her inner self, the desire to turn back almost strong enough as a voice spoke from the bench beside the archway.

'Evening.' The voice carried across the pathway, Erica spinning on the spot in surprise.

'Jesus.' She exhaled, lifting one hand to her chest, the other ripping the headphones from her head.

'I've been called worse.' The gentleman smiled as he lowered his paper, his words laced with sincerity. 'I'm sorry Miss. I didn't mean to scare you.'

'No shit.' Erica replied without thinking, looking the man up and down. Late thirties, long dark hair and a tweed overcoat, the man looked ever so slightly out of place as he cast his gaze in Erica's direction. 'Isn't it a little dark to be reading the paper?' She asked.

'I like the dark.' The man said as he lifted the paper back up, allowing his eyes to drop once again to the pages, his voice now dropping in volume as he absorbed the words printed within. 'Lets you see the world for what it really is.'

'Well...' Erica said. 'I'll leave you to it.'

'If I were you I'd turn that music up a little.' The man replied with a grin as he nodded over the top of his paper and towards the Walkman. 'Stop people from making you jump next time.'

'Yeah, maybe I'll do that.' She answered, repositioning the headphones for what felt like the hundredth time that evening and turning up the volume. 'Goodbye then.'

'Goodbye Erica.' The gentleman replied over the top of his paper, Erica oblivious as she began to walk along the barely illuminated path before her, Led Zeppelin's 'Stairway To Heaven' beginning to soak through her headphones. She had only taken a few steps, the path in front winding on into the distance, when, unable to fight the urge, she turned and gave the man one final glance, the bench now empty as the paper sat and gently fluttered in the breeze, the pages now turning over one by one as if by magic. Thinking nothing else of it, she turned and gave a shrug of the shoulders, her journey almost over. Just the park to cross and then finally home for the evening, the next day and yet another shift ahead.

* * *

She'd been walking maybe ten minutes, Led Zeppelin's soothing epic finishing with Jimmy Page's furious guitar solo and giving way to a much heavier and faster paced 'Burn' by Deep Purple as Erica threw back her head with a smile, drew a deep breath and closed her eyes in exhilaration, David Coverdale's voice sending a shiver down her spine. The disappointment had been enormous as former singer Ian Gillan later re-joined the band and refused to sing any Coverdale era material throughout the last tour, the Chicago leg something Erica had patiently waited hours in line for. The music pumping through her ears, her ability to react was now practically non-existent as she left herself exposed on both sides, not noticing the rustle of the bushes as she suddenly felt the wind knocked from her lungs, the impact knocking her to the ground as her headphones were thrown from her head. Before she knew it, she found herself laying on the grass beside the path as, slightly dazed, she looked up and took a look around, just able to make out the poorly lit figure of her boyfriend, Dale, making his way towards her in the distance. Reaching out without thinking and trying to alert him, Erica tried to scream, to cry for help, but found her lungs lacking the air with which to do so as she suddenly found the cable of her headphones thrown ungracefully around her neck. Unable to react, the cable instantly pulled tight as Erica felt the pressure begin to build within her head, now finding herself being dragged across the grass she began to panic, her legs kicking and flailing in defiance, her unknown attacker pulling her silently into the shadows and the overgrown bushes waiting within. The leaves and branches parted around her as her headphones dangled across her chest, Jon Lord's Hammond organ solo now reaching it's beginning as Ritchie Blackmore's guitar gave up the floor with a squeal of vibrato and allowed the keys to take centre stage, all the while the attacker pulling tighter still as the branches closed behind them and Erica came to a stop. The blood unable to drain from her head had begun to turn her complexion a dark red, every artery and vein compressed under the force. Her eyes had begun to bulge under the pressure the cable had exerted upon her windpipe. Once again she tried to scream. Do anything. Instead, she could do nothing, her eyes just able to pick out Dale's legs, now passing by the overgrown bushes, unaware as just feet away Erica felt the tears begin to roll over her cheeks and her vision start to deteriorate. With one last attempt, she lifted her hands to her neck and started to claw away at the wire now pulled tighter still, the skin around the wire beginning to bleed as her finger nails tore at the soft flesh around it, the blood sticky and tacky, beginning to dry on her fingers as finally Erica felt the last bit of strength begin to leave her body and helplessly allowed her eyes to close. It hadn't taken long until her body had fallen limp and the attacker relinquished his grasp, leaning in and checking for any potential sign of life as his long dark hair fell over Erica's shoulder and he allowed a giggle to leave his lips.

'Now,' He began, the giggle growing into a sadistic cackle as he withdrew the knife from within his overcoat and unbuttoned Erica's polo shirt. 'This is where it gets interesting.'

* * *

 **Present Day**

The screech of tyres on tarmac pierced eardrums the length of the street as the BMW hung a left from main street and entered the tunnel leading beneath the towering structure by the sidewalk. Another squeal as the rubber twisted and turned, hitting the darkness of the underground parking lot and casting the glow of its headlights across the wall, swinging left and right as the driver followed the arrows and weaved throughout the subterranean maze. Finally the headlights settled and grew larger by the second upon the concrete wall, the car coming to an abrupt stop just inches away as the wheels locked tight and the car rested in the parking bay, the sign on the wall declaring the bay to be reserved for one 'Dr. Harold Abner'. Inside the car the driver cursed under his breath as he punched the touch button ignition and felt the engine fizzle out calmly, the interior of the car illuminated as he did so. Throwing open the door and stepping into the empty parking lot Doctor Abner continued to curse, muttering to himself as he locked the BMW with his fob and forced his small, rotund figure towards the elevator across the way. Lifting his cell phone and reading the text once again he shook his head, the silent alarm of his office not only alerting the doctor but also connected to Chicago Police Departments dispatch crew, the delay only thirty minutes before a patrol car was inevitably dispatched to the scene. Jamming his thumb into the elevators call button Doctor Abner breathed a sigh of relief as the doors instantly parted and he found the inviting hum of classical music inviting him within. Without even looking, the good doctor entered the elevator and spun on the spot, arm already extended as he pressed the button for the very top floor, the doors closing as quickly as they had opened and the sudden ascent causing the butterflies to gather in his generous belly. Lifting his cell phone once again, he took in the time. Just after midnight and with only another ten minutes to call off the cavalry it was fair to say he had been in better moods, the odd expletive still floating from the lips resting behind his neatly trimmed beard. Within no time at all the lift came to a stop and the doors opened, revealing a waiting room illuminated by the solitary glow of a desk lamp, the shadows thrown across the floor and walls lending Doctor Abner's reception an eerie quality as he stepped from the elevator and on to the thick carpet now beneath his feet. Taking a look around and finding nothing out of place, the doctor turned his attention to his office door, closed but nonetheless allowing the light from within to spill the gap beneath. As calm as he tried to be, the situation had now taken a serious turn. There was somebody in there alright. Looking left and right, Doctor Abner settled upon a glass paperweight, the round, flat bottomed ornament heavy in his hand as he plucked it from the stack of papers littering his receptionist's desk and gripped it firmly in his hand, lifting it above his head as he now crept silently across the carpet and towards his office door. Arm raised, the weight getting heavier by the second, he felt the first beads of sweat upon his brow. Anxiety building, his free hand now grabbed the door handle as he mentally prepared himself for what may lay ahead. Without saying a word he gave the door handle a sharp twist and pushed with all his weight, the door flying open as he stepped into the office unsure what to expect.

'Alright.' Doctor Abner spoke, eyes scanning the office and finding nobody at all. Not a thing out of place. 'Whoever you are, whatever you want I can assure you the game is up. The police are on their way.'

Slowly, the padded leather armchair by the doctor's desk began to rotate, and an arm came into view, the glass of scotch held aloft as the elbow rested on the arm, the chair spinning a half circle and revealing the occupant, the smile spread wide and revealing a row of pristine white teeth.

'Now Harold, we both know that's a lie.'

'Jesus Christ.' Abner sighed in relief, allowing his arm to drop, the paperweight falling to the floor with a dull thud.

'You call that a warm welcome?' The intruder asked, lowering the glass of scotch and resting his forearm along the length of the arm support.

'If you wanted a warm welcome then may I suggest you make an appointment like everybody else?' Harold spat as he strode across the office carpet and past his visitor, the arm chair turning to follow him as he reached for the phone placed atop his solid oak desk and dialled.

'You said 'anytime'.' The man laughed, his thin moustache and wrinkled face lifting as he did so. 'You calling the Sheriff?'

'Something like that.' Harold replied, phone pressed to his ear as the answer came from the other end. 'Yes, this is Doctor Harold Abner down at the Washington Complex in Main Street. Yes, that's right, a false alarm. Sorry to bother you, goodnight officer.'

'Must say,' Harold's visitor sat forward and took a look around. 'Place looks a lot better these days.'

'And so it should.' Harold replied, pulling his chair from beneath his desk and slumping into his seat. 'You any idea how much it costs to refurbish a psychiatrist's office? The slightest clash of colours can cause the most tremendous uproar. Same with an uncomfortable seat.'

'Well I must say I'm impressed.'

'What do you want Mike?' Harold snapped without thinking, the dishevelled man sitting opposite his desk lifting his eyebrow in response. 'I mean, it's been how long? Five years?'

'Six.' Mike answered instantly. 'But I don't like to count.'

'I take it you're back on the drink?' Harold asked as he sat back, gesturing to the crystal glass held delicately in Mike's hand.

'I just like to hold it.' Mike answered with a grin. 'Is that a crime?'

'Not as much a crime as breaking and entering, Detective Norris.'

''Former' Detective Norris.' Mike interrupted, glass held aloft, index finger extended in the doctor's direction. 'Former. You know what those assholes did to me.'

'And you blame them?' Harold sat forward, his voice raising in amusement. 'All that talk of murderous dolls? Voodoo? Whatever did you expect? Your superiors to roll out the red carpet?'

'There was evidence.' Mike sat back and crossed his arms. 'A whole heap of it.'

'And what happened to this 'evidence'?' Harold asked, inviting the former detective to proceed. 'It just disappeared am I correct?'

'The biggest mistake I ever made was walking away from that crime scene.' Mike leaned forward and slammed the glass upon the surface of Doctor Abner's desk. 'Thinking forensics would do their damned job correctly!'

'No.' Harold shook his head. 'Your biggest mistake was getting caught up in that whole charade. A charade that you wouldn't look at from a rational, logical angle. That you still won't by the looks of it.'

'There was blood.' Mike spat through gritted teeth. 'Okay? Back then we didn't have half the stuff we have now. If we'd have been able to DNA test that blood it would've been a straight up match for Ray!'

'I'm sorry who?' Harold asked confused.

'Charles Lee Ray.' Mike snapped. 'The goddamned Strangler.'

'Forgive me if I'm mistaken, but this is the, then recently deceased, criminal that you killed? The one that just coincidentally happened to be trapped inside this walking, talking killer doll that Karen Barclay bought for her son?'

'Yes.' Mike answered with a sigh, sinking back into the soft, welcoming leather of the arm chair.

'Look,' Harold placed his elbows on the surface of his desk and cradled his chin in his hands. 'I'm going to give you one chance to tell me why you're here. If I don't like it I swear to god I'm calling the police.'

'You said,' Mike began. 'All those years ago, that you couldn't help me if I wasn't willing to tell you everything.'

'That seems to ring a bell.' Harold nodded. 'But we went through your ordeal with a fine tooth comb. Karen's too. Is that right?'

A nod from Mike as he took a deep breath and unleashed a long, dismal sigh.

'Now unless you have remembered anything else in this last six years then I'm afraid I can't help you. It's as preposterous a story now as it was back then, and the sooner you realise that, the better Mike, do you understand?'

'There's more.' Mike said bluntly, Doctor Abner sitting back and narrowing his eyes, taking a second to evaluate his scrawny looking former patient.

'Define 'more'.' He asked with curiosity.

'Not the doll.' Mike shook his head and tried to get his bearings. 'Before that. Before all of that. Before Karen and Andy.'

'Go on.' Doctor Abner sat back and invited Mike to continue. 'You've got my attention.'

'There are things I never told you.' Mike carried on. 'Back then, I didn't think it would help, you know?' A nod from the doctor. 'But recently, I've been having these dreams. Nightmares even. They've brought everything flooding back.'

'And what are these things in relation to?' Harold asked. 'You say this was all before 'those' events? Tell me more.'

'I told you about Charles Lee Ray.' Mike said, Harold nodding once more in response. 'I told you that it was me that killed him. About the night he died. But I never told you about what went before that. The case.'

'Case?' Harold asked. 'What case?'

'The Lakeshore Strangler.' Mike lifted his head and fixed the doctor with an ice cold stare.

'I remember the name.'

'When I'm done,' Mike began. 'You'll remember a whole lot more. Only thing is where do I start?'

'I tend to recommend the beginning.' Doctor Abner now leaned forward, his voice quiet, his hands clasped together on the desk. 'That's usually as good a place as any.'

'Very well.' Mike's eyes never left the doctor, a slight yet constant nod as he spoke. 'Then I guess we'd better go back to the afternoon of October 3rd 1986.'

'You've lost me Mike.' Doctor Abner queried. 'I don't understand.' Giving a small laugh as he allowed his mind to think back the thirty plus years, Mike sunk into the armchair and cradled the glass of scotch, the temptation great, but not great enough.

'You will understand doc.' He said vacantly as he admired the detail in the crystal, his eyes suddenly turning to the doctor. 'When I'm finished, you will. You see that was the day we found Erica Hunt. The very first victim of Charles Lee Ray. The Lakeshore Strangler.'


	2. Chapter One - The Discovery

_'So this was the first victim?_

 _Yes._

 _And how many were there in the end?_

 _We'll get to that._

 _Okay, in your own time Mike._

 _I Remember it like it was yesterday. I know everybody says that, but I remember every little detail. From the breeze blowing in across the park. To the heat._

 _Heat? I thought this was October?_

 _It was unusually warm. For that time of year. Not burning, but warm, and humid._

 _So where do you want to begin?_

 _At the start?_

 _Sure._

 _It was late morning when the call came in. Jack was in the car. I was picking up a paper. Then the radio just... Changed everything.'_

* * *

 **Chapter One -** **The Discovery**

 **October 3rd 1986**

The early morning dawn had broken splendidly across the Chicago horizon. The medley of reds and ambers blending as the sun gently rose and spread its rays across the bustling city beneath. The air had a fresh feeling about it alright. A chill in the breeze, yet the warmth of the sun enough to draw sweat as the unmarked car screeched to a halt by the kerb, the driver killing the engine as the revolving red light sat atop the roof quickly faded and ceased turning. The call had been brief and to the point, neither occupant of the car thinking anything of it. Just another day, as they threw open their doors and stepped onto the sidewalk, the crowd of people gathered by the park entrance jostling for position as a solitary policeman stood behind the line of tape, the words 'POLICE LINE – CAUTION DO NOT CROSS' emblazoned across the white background in staggering blue letters. He'd always found it amusing how a line of tape only fraction of a millimetre thick could hold back an army of gossip hungry citizens. The activity happening the other side of the tape seeming to bring out a curiosity in everybody within a three mile radius as quite often crowds flocked to the scene. Now however, as they fought through the dense crowd, he found it sad. The majority of people stood there right now with nothing better to do. Unable to wait as they instantly began to spread the word. A body here, a rape there, nothing seemed to be held sacred anymore as the tongue-twitchers waited in the wings to gorge on the misery of others. Up ahead he could see Jack reach the police line and the crowd gently part, the young officer on guard stepping forward and about to reprimand him as he lifted the tape aloft and held it for Mike to stoop beneath, Mike following as he and Jack fished the badges from within their jacket pockets and without a word flashed them in the young officer's direction before carrying on into the tranquil setting of the park.

'What do we know then?' Jack asked, taking a sip of his coffee as they made their way down the path, the narrow concrete walkway twisting and turning before disappearing over the small brow and into the bushes up ahead.

'Not much.' Mike answered with a slow shake of the head, his immaculately groomed hair shifting as his brow lifted and he retrieved the notebook from within his jacket pocket. 'Female. Discovered early this morning by some old timer walking his dog.'

'Nobody checked for any ID?' Jack asked, the crime scene gradually coming into view as the two rounded a corner, emerging from behind the bushes and finding the familiar scene awaiting up ahead. Cases of forensics equipment lay across the ground. Tape stretching from here to there, and back again, the long line of blue and white fluttering in the breeze. Anything out of place had been labelled alphabetically, the plethora of evidence to be used at a later date. Cameras flashed as the team, all decked head to toe in white, disposable, sterile suits scurried between different points of interest, the silence deafening, broken only by the occasional charge of a camera flash as Mike and Jack slowly came to a stop before the bushes that seemed to be attracting such a barrage of attention.

'What we got fellas?' Mike asked as he dug his hands into his jacket pockets, one of the faceless forensic team turning and offering a gloved hand in greeting.

'Detective Norris.' His voice was muffled as he spoke through the mask covering his mouth and nose, also turning to Jack and again extending his hand. 'Detective Santos. Lovely to see you both.'

'Yeah Tom, we don't do this anywhere near as often as I'd like.' Jack replied with a firm shake, the sarcasm causing Tom to roll his eyes.

'Ever the joker detective.' He said turning back to Mike who had an inquisitive look about him. 'You look troubled detective Norris.'

'No, no.' Mike answered rather innocently, shaking his head once again. 'Just, usually we get a call about a homicide and, you know, we arrive and find a body.'

'Ah, fear not detective.' Tom lifted a hand and extended a sterile index finger, his eyes narrowing as he began to turn to the bushes behind him. 'Our girl is waiting for you both, right this way.' Stepping towards the bushes, the differing hues of greens, reds, yellows and browns resembling a mural of sorts, Tom gently grabbed the branches with both hands and pulled. Behind the vibrant colours, the full bodied branches bustling with life and colour, sat a cavity. A barren, empty void as the roots of the bushes stemmed from the dirt and twisted randomly in every direction, Jack suddenly turning in disgust as the body became visible among the soil and leaves.

'Jesus Christ.' Mike sighed, his eyes never leaving the scene as he lifted a hand to his mouth and nose. 'You never get used to the smell, do you?' He asked, Jack turning back towards the lifeless body and taking a deep breath before approaching gingerly.

'All in a days work Mikey.' He said, dropping to one knee before the body. 'Everything as you found it?' He asked Tom, his eyes scanning the corpse.

'Yes detective.' Tom answered. 'From what I can see, I'd estimate the time of death to be a few days ago.'

'A few days?' Mike asked in surprise, grabbing Tom's arm and instantly gaining his attention. 'You mean to say she's been here for days?'

'That's what I'd say.' Tom nodded, returning his attention to the body. 'You mentioned the smell? It's a good job it's not summer otherwise it would be a lot worse. Now, the lacerations to the arms seem to be fairly superficial, deep enough to draw blood, but not enough to sever anything serious. So looking at the wounds and the way they've dried, yes I'd say they were around a few days old.'

'So those cuts didn't contribute towards the death?' Mike asked, also turning back to the body.

'Not a chance.' Tom replied.

'So what did?' Mike queried, his brow furrowing in concentration.

'Here.' Jack called over his shoulder, his eyes still fixed on the lifeless girl before him, digging a pen from the inside pocket of his jacket and positioning it beneath her chin, lifting the girl's head and examining the throat. 'We've got marks here. Blood too. Looks like a good old fashioned strangulation boys. Our girl no doubt tried to struggle free, and...' A pause as he allowed her head to drop, gently using the tip of his pen once more, turning a limp wrist over and spotting the dried blood beneath the fingernails. 'Bingo. Poor bitch must've been terrified.'

'You don't say.' Mike squatted beside Jack, concentration burnt across his face as he processed the evidence. 'We got any gloves?' He asked Tom, a pair of bright blue surgeon gloves suddenly thrust beneath his nose. Stretching the nylon attire over his hand, Mike lifted one of the girl's wrists and allowed his eyes to wander over the cuts running the length of her arm, gently re-placing it upon the dirty ground and lifting the opposite wrist.

'Those look like some kind of snakes to you?' Jack asked craning over and taking a look.

'Two snakes. Intertwined. The same on both arms.' Mike replied, dropping the girl's arm and pointing to the bosom of the polo shirt, ripped open and exposing the chest, the dried blood covering her torso as Mike struggled to decipher the knife marks beneath. 'This is different though. What are we saying Jack? That look like an arch to you?'

'I'm going to guess that's meant to be a rainbow.' Jack answered, laying his hand upon the torn fabric of the shirt and pulling it open slightly, Tom's voice cutting through the air with a sternness.

'You'll have to wait until we can get her back to the coroner's office to remove any clothes gentlemen.' Tom interrupted, Jack and Mike standing in unison as they turned and examined the rest of the scene, the little plastic letters dotted left and right.

'Those marks around the neck.' Jack mumbled, his head sweeping left to right as his eyes worked overtime. 'They're too prominent to be a fibre wire.'

'Meaning?' Mike asked.

'I'm willing to bet our killer improvised with something else.'

'Why?'

'Well just maybe, he intended to do this the good old fashioned way.' Jack lifted his hands and placed them around Mike's throat. 'But let's say he got carried away. Even enjoyed himself.'

'Go on.' Mike beckoned, curious to know more.

'Imagine he attacks.' Jack stepped back and pointed at the path, then made a sweeping gesture with his arm, extended as he turned his attention towards the bushes and the various items littering the area behind. 'He finds something, between point A and point B, that he thinks will do the job better.'

'Like the wire-' Mike began, a moment of revelation upon him as he spotted something on the ground, his partner also coming to the same conclusion.

'From these headphones.' Jack finished, stooping and lifting the twisted cable of the headphones with the end of his pen, his eyes narrowing as he lowered his head and examined the thin, black cable.

'Son of a bitch.' Mike said as Tom produced a cellophane evidence bag from thin air and placed it beneath the headphones, Jack dropping them in and allowing Tom to seal it.

'Well spotted.' Tom smiled. 'Now all you need to do is figure out who did this, and why.'

'Easier said than done.' Mike remarked with a shake of his head. 'I've never seen anything quite like this.'

'Probably some psycho had an axe to grind with the victim.' Jack reasoned. 'See it all the time. Speaking of which do we have any ID on the victim yet?'

'Not at this moment.' Tom replied, turning and indicating the bag labelled 'Exhibit B'. 'But feel free to check the purse. Usually a good place to start.'

'Don't worry Mikey.' Jack smiled as he dropped to one knee, the moist soil beginning to soak through the denim of his jeans as he pulled on a glove and lifted open the girl's bag, inserting his hand and pulling out a purse. 'We'll have this solved by the end of the day.'

'I don't know Jack.' Mike exhaled deeply as he looked left to right and took in the murder scene again. 'I've got a feeling, I don't know. This doesn't feel right.'

'You worry too much.' Jack laughed, his moustache lifting as he smiled, opening the purse and beginning to thumb through the contents. 'Okay, we got ten, twenty... Twenty seven dollars, a credit card and video rental card.'

'I take it one of those cards has a name and an address?' Mike queried, Jack digging out the video rental card and focussing on the details written upon the surface of the laminated card.

'Indeed we do.' He replied as he stood, thrusting the card to his partner, Mike snatching it and examining it himself.

'Erica Hunt.' He whispered, looking towards a patrol officer, guarding the perimeter of these cordon, and catching his attention, the young officer enthusiastically making his way over as Mike gestured. 'I need you to get onto HQ and see what they have on this name. Most importantly, see if she's been reported missing and when.' He ordered, the young officer taking the card and turning, hurrying away and towards his patrol car as Mike turned back to Jack, his partner now knelt by the corpse again and examining the mutilations running the length of the arms.

'You know what's bothering me?' He asked, these wounds are deep enough to draw significant blood. 'Whoever did this, they didn't touch her money, credit card, any of her possessions.'

'Well we can rule out a random mugging.' Mike said.

'No shit.' Jack laughed half-heartedly, now standing as the coroner arrived on the scene, the two men with him carrying a gurney and an inconspicuous black bag. The bag intended for allowing the late Erica Hunt a discrete and respectful passage through the crowd of people now gathered around the park entrance.

'Detectives,' Tom appeared between the two officers, a hand on each shoulder. 'The coroner would very much like your permission to move the body now. Do we have everything we need?'

'I think we're good.' Jack said, Mike nodding in agreement.

'You guys have everything you need?' He asked, Tom nodding as one last flash of a camera temporarily illuminated the scene.

'We have everything we need.' He answered. 'I'll get started on establishing the basics. Discover what happened to our girl here. You two have the fun job of finding exactly who's to blame for all this mess.'

'Aren't we the lucky ones.' Mike whispered, retrieving a packet of cigarettes from within his jacket pocket, fishing one free and placing it between his lips, the surge of nicotine instantaneous as he struck a match and lifted it to the tip, sucking the harsh vapour through the filter and into his lungs. As he stood, beside Jack, and watched the coroner's team gently handle the body of the late Erica Hunt into the body bag now spread evenly across the ground, he let his mind wander. None of this made sense. It wasn't a robbery. That much was clear. It was premeditated, Mike was sure of it. The mutilations weren't simply an afterthought of a split second decision. Somebody had killed Erica with the intention of carrying out those graphic acts. The question they faced now though was a tough one. Was this random? Had Erica simply been unlucky? The wrong place at the wrong time? Or had she known the killer? Had this been a well laid plan, right down to the victim? Deep in his thoughts, cigarette burning between his lips, Mike suddenly felt a hand upon his shoulder, the young patrol officer returning from his task, out of breath and handing the video rental card back to Mike.

'Reported missing detective.' He gasped, panting for air.

'When?' Mike asked, allowing the young officer time to recover.

'Two days.' He replied. 'Boyfriend called it in when the victim failed to meet him after work.'

'Tell me we have a name and address for the boyfriend.' Jack asked, appearing beside the young officer and catching the conversation.

'We do sir.' The officer turned to Jack before turning back to Mike.

'Well then.' Mike smiled to them both, one last lungful of smoke before casting the burned out butt to towards the floor. 'Looks like we have our first lead.'

* * *

Making their way back across the park took little to no time at all, Mike and Jack ducking beneath the police line and squeezing through the murmuring crowd before reaching their car, the abode of one Dale Lomax their next port of call as they sought to begin their investigation. It was only a matter of minutes before the crowd surrounding the entrance of Murrayfield Park parted down the middle in silence, the coroner's staff slowly arriving at the gates and wheeling the gurney on through as the crowd watched on. Whether the reality of what had happened had just hit the crowd it would never be known, but as the gossiping and murmurs ceased you could hear a pin drop, the gasps of shock rippling across the onlookers as a lone, bloodied arm suddenly fell free of the body bag and dangled on display as, unheard by many, the solitary voice of an onlooker whispered a single word in disbelief.

'Damballa!'


End file.
